A CHINK IN MY ARMOR
Posted by Susan Ely at 10/22/2007 7:41 AM and is filed under uncategorized 
The Big Brute of My Turtle Collection:
When I saw this guy at the nursery, I knew he needed a home in my "Secret Turtle Garden" in the backyard. Pretty tough looking, isn't he? He reminds of a big snapping turtle I came across when we lived in Tampa. I heard this weird sound as I was taking my walk and there was a large snapping turtle standing on its hind legs, hissing and lunging at a cat. And I thought the turtle's only defense was withdrawing into its shell. That image has always stuck with me, the idea that all of us are capable of anger and will ferociously defend our territory when threatened.
That pretty much sums up my demeanor the past week: reared up, ready to defend my rights and attack anyone who dared trespass. I had built up a wall of self-protection as impenetrable as the iron shell of the turtle in my garden, except I didn't have any pretty scrolls decorating my armor. I was big, I was bad, I was miserable and I wanted everyone else to be miserable too. Misery loves having dinner guests.
Although everything in me wanted to pick a fight, there was a small gnawing in my conscience that maybe I was fighting for the wrong thing. What if instead of fighting against the person I had deemed my adversary, I decided to fight for them. To be guided by mercy instead of justice. That's not an original thought, by the way, I think somebody else said it first: Do Unto Others as You Would Have Them Do Unto You. Ouch. Even with the armor, that hurt.
It wasn't easy, but I ultimately chose to put down my weapons. You know what I'm talking about. The offensive weapons: snarls, eye-rolling, caustic comebacks. And the defensive weapons which are actually worse: avoidance and emotional withdrawal, which I call "Going Turtle," of "If I don't see you, you can't hurt me, but I can hurt you."
Not to deny the hurt that started the fight - that was real and needed to be addressed, but to make reconciliation the goal rather than drawing a line in the sand and saying "mine." It's amazing how easy it is to mistake a fellow soldier for the enemy.
When I saw this guy at the nursery, I knew he needed a home in my "Secret Turtle Garden" in the backyard. Pretty tough looking, isn't he? He reminds of a big snapping turtle I came across when we lived in Tampa. I heard this weird sound as I was taking my walk and there was a large snapping turtle standing on its hind legs, hissing and lunging at a cat. And I thought the turtle's only defense was withdrawing into its shell. That image has always stuck with me, the idea that all of us are capable of anger and will ferociously defend our territory when threatened.
That pretty much sums up my demeanor the past week: reared up, ready to defend my rights and attack anyone who dared trespass. I had built up a wall of self-protection as impenetrable as the iron shell of the turtle in my garden, except I didn't have any pretty scrolls decorating my armor. I was big, I was bad, I was miserable and I wanted everyone else to be miserable too. Misery loves having dinner guests.
Although everything in me wanted to pick a fight, there was a small gnawing in my conscience that maybe I was fighting for the wrong thing. What if instead of fighting against the person I had deemed my adversary, I decided to fight for them. To be guided by mercy instead of justice. That's not an original thought, by the way, I think somebody else said it first: Do Unto Others as You Would Have Them Do Unto You. Ouch. Even with the armor, that hurt.
It wasn't easy, but I ultimately chose to put down my weapons. You know what I'm talking about. The offensive weapons: snarls, eye-rolling, caustic comebacks. And the defensive weapons which are actually worse: avoidance and emotional withdrawal, which I call "Going Turtle," of "If I don't see you, you can't hurt me, but I can hurt you."
Not to deny the hurt that started the fight - that was real and needed to be addressed, but to make reconciliation the goal rather than drawing a line in the sand and saying "mine." It's amazing how easy it is to mistake a fellow soldier for the enemy.
Susan,
What a timely message. No snapping here, but I needed to be reminded not to take the defense. Take care.
Linda M.
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